“And then you dream about me, right? You stay awake and—”
My laugh cut him off as I swung at him with my free hand, aiming for his chest. What he was saying was beyond ridiculous. Okay—maybe not the dreaming part. He did star in quite a few of them. My hand never landed though. He snatched it out of the air with his other hand with startling reflexes and hauled me against his chest in one quick, smooth move.
Impressive.
“Hitting is not nice,” he said, grinning. “And neither is deluding yourself.”
My chest flush with his made this conversation all the more difficult. The tips of my breasts tingled sharply. “You should listen to what you’re saying. You said you regretted kissing me, so why would I sit around and think about you? I moved on, bud.”
The moment those words left my mouth and my gaze locked with his, I realized that I’d made a mistake. I don’t know what he was thinking, but the intensity in his silvery eyes consumed me. Somehow we’d gone from harmless teasing and talking smack—because the stuff I’d been spouting off at him were some pretty bad lies—to this . . . and I didn’t even know what this was.
The humor vanished from his striking face. “I never said I regretted kissing you.”
“I’m pretty sure you did.”
His eyes burned like quicksilver. “I’m pretty sure I didn’t.”
Slowly, I shook my head. Confusion poured in and I didn’t know what to say.
“And I don’t regret kissing you.”
In my chest, my heart tripled its beats at those words. “You don’t?”
“No.” He looked away for a brief moment, jaw working, before his gaze latched onto mine again. “I should. I wish I did.”
“I don’t,” I whispered before I could stop myself. “I don’t regret it at all.”
He stared at me a moment as his hands on my wrists spasmed. His arms extended out, putting a few inches in between our bodies, and I should’ve kept my damn mouth shut.
“Fuck,” he said, voice hoarse, and dragged me back against him.
Jase lowered his head and his mouth was on mine before I even realized what was happening. My brain was way behind what was going on, but he kissed me—he was kissing me. His lips were on mine, and there was nothing soft and sweet about this kiss.
I was branded in seconds.
His mouth moved along as his hands moved to cup my cheeks, tilting my head back. I rose up onto the toes of my sneakers, placing my hands against his chest. Under my palm, his heart pounded as fast as mine. He shuddered as his fingers spread, and I think I stopped breathing.
Over three years of crushing on him, a year since the last time our lips met, and Jase . . . oh God, he was finally kissing me.
Mind reeling and senses spinning, I trembled as he nipped at my lower lip the same way he had at my neck before and then flicked the edge of his tongue over the seam of my lips, coaxing them open. He deepened the kiss, tasting me—owning me, and in the same instance, setting me free. This kiss was nothing like the one stolen a year ago. It blew it out of the water as a deep, nearly primitive rumble rose up from his chest.
He drank me in.
There was a brief second where I worried about his father finding us like this, and, well, that would just be awkward. The threat vanished as his hands slid down my throat, over my shoulders, to my hips. Being caught? Total nonissue.
My heart swelled until I thought it couldn’t take any more as his hold on my hips tightened. He lifted me up without breaking the kiss. Instinct took over. I wrapped my legs around his waist as I looped my arms around his neck, thrusting my fingers through the soft edges of his hair.
He started walking, and I had no idea where he was heading, but I was in awe of his multitasking skills, the way his tongue tangled with mine, how his hands curved to the cheeks of my ass and never once stumbling.
A maddening rush of sensations shot through me as he went down on his knees and my back hit the hay. His powerful body hovered over mine, caging me in. The thin, itchy straws poked at my arms, but his lips seared mine and he stole my breath as he lowered his body onto mine. The hay drew in our combined weight, cradling us as one of Jase’s hands drifted to my thigh, hooking my leg over his. This was nothing like the night he was drunk. We both knew he was fully aware of what he was doing. We both were here.
The pressure—the positioning of where he was the hardest and I was the softest—left little room for thought. I could feel him, and when his lower body rolled against mine, I whimpered at the sharp pleasure pounding through me. I tilted my hips up, following his lead, and his answering groan was like thunder in my blood.